


prince arthur and his merry thief

by nasa



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, M/M, arthur is a prince while eames is a lowly thief, they live in a royal kingdom of which cobb is king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: In which Cobb is the King of Somnacin Land, Arthur has a tub with his name on it, Ariadne is enthused about Arthur and Eames' impending nuptials, Yusuf is a rat, and Eames has been caught by the least competent guards in existence (really).-Arthur shrugged. “If I had a fantasy,” he said, “it certainly wouldn’t feature someone like you.”“Well, that’s a mistake,” Eames said. “Maybe you need to learn to dream a little - bigger.”





	prince arthur and his merry thief

“Freeze!”

Eames freezes, one hand buried deep in a sack of golden coins, the other strung with diamond tiaras and silver crowns.

“In the name of the King, I command you to freeze!”

“I’m frozen,” Eames says. The guard looks panicky, hands shaking around his sword, which is pointed somewhat off center of Eames’ chest.

“I command you to freeze!” the guard yells again.

“I think we’ve established that I’m already there,” Eames says. He’s about to just say fuck it and throw a faceplate of golden armor in the guard’s face when another guard comes around the corner, knives stuck between his fingers like claws.

“Freeze!” he yells, and throws a knife at Eames. It just misses his shoulder, instead piercing his tunic, forcing him back and pinning him to the mud wall of the dungeon. “Freeze!” he yells again, although Eames is still, obviously, very clearly frozen.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Eames huffs.

-

Eames is a thief. A good thief, he likes to think, very accomplished; he regularly pilfers coins from the coppers at the local churches, and ‘borrows’ bowls and spoons from Yusuf, the town alchemist, and sometimes, when he is feeling particularly daring (which is always), snatches bolts of cloth from under the royal seamstress’s nose. Once he even stole the Blood Diamond from the Cobol King’s convoy, which is quite a feat, if he does say so himself. It’d been in a wagon with a door, and an actual human _guard_ protecting it. It’s only a job for the toughest of thieves.

Of course, in retrospect, he might have been _slightly_ out of his element when he agreed to steal five million gold coins worth of treasure from the royal holding chambers. But hey - go big or go home, right? There’s no value in playing it safe.

Except he probably should have played it a bit safer, because now he’s being led through the open citadel hallways towards the Great Hall. It feels very much like a death march. It’s sunny and warm and the birds are singing, but, whatever, still ominous. Eames reflects on his life. He lived a good life.

“I lived a good life,” Eames tells the guard holding his left arm. The guard grunts and yanks him forward. Testy. Someone needs to brighten up their outlook on life.

“You need to brighten up your outlook on life,” Eames tells him. He doesn’t seem to appreciate it, only tightening his grip on Eames arm. Eames continues anyway. “You’re doing great, really. You have all the power. I’m the one walking to his death.”

“Shut the hell up,” one of the guards says - a scrawny little thing, weighed down by his armor, and isn’t that sad, really? More like a marionette than a person, Eames almost pities him, and is just opening his mouth to say so when they reach the Great Hall and throw the doors open and Eames finds all the breath in his body leaving in one great gust.

“Hello, Eames,” Arthur says from where’s he’s perched on the edge of King Cobb’s throne. “Fancy seeing you here.”

-

Really, Eames never should have gotten involved with castle politics at all. He should never have come to this city at all. Somnacin City, the biggest city in the world since - well, ever, Eames supposes. He’s not sure, he never went to school.

Anyway, he really should never have come here in the first place. Because that’s really what got him in his trouble. Because he only stole the gold because he felt comfortable stealing from the seamstress, and he only felt comfortable stealing from the seamstress because he’d done it so much, and he’d only done it so much because he’d _had to._ For his own survival. For the sake of _the kingdom._ Because Arthur - Crown Prince Arthur, god bless his soul and his ass - wore far, far too much clothing. He had pants and tunics and undertunics and cloaks and overtunics and a second pair of pants he sometimes wore under his pants, just in case they ripped, and - _Jesus_ it was too much. Eames never got a glimpse at any of the skin under all that cloth - not after their first meeting, anyway.

Well. Ok. Back it up.

They first met when Eames had worked a long, hard day pickpocketing family heirlooms in the market place. Pickpocketing, of course, is a tireless profession, and so by the end of the day Eames’ back was sore and his legs were tired and he wanted nothing more than to soak in a big, hot bath. So, during dinner, when he knew there wouldn’t be anyone there, he broke into the royal baths, stripped down, and hopped into the pool.

It was a rather ingenious plan, if he does say so himself. He relaxed against the stone wall of the tub, complimenting himself on his ingenuity and considering a nap as a reward.

“Last time I checked,” someone said from across the pool, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

Eames opened his eyes, pushing himself back up. “Well hello there, darling,” he said in his most seductive voice.

“It’s not darling, it’s Prince Arthur,” Prince Arthur interrupts him. “And I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you need to get out.”

“So, darling,” Eames says, sliding towards Arthur. “Do you come here often?”

Arthur raised a brow. “Are you joking?” Eames just stared at him, doing his best to look earnest. Arthur huffed. “It’s my bathtub, of course I come here often. I mean, the pool is literally engraved with my name.”

“Really?” Eames feigned surprise. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Sure,” Arthur said, entirely unconvinced. “Just like you hadn’t noticed you’re in the royal castle, and I am the King’s ward, who you don’t have the clearance to see naked.”

Eames huffed, waves a hand. “Oh, posh. Who needs clearance for things like that? It’s not about the rules. It’s about the _emotion._ The _passion.”_ He shifted a bit closer to Arthur underwater. Eyebrows raised, Arthur shifted further away. “Come on, darling, why not loosen up a little? Haven’t you ever imagined a moment like this? A tall, dark, handsome stranger, happy and willing to relieve your __tension _.”_

Arthur shrugged. “If I had a fantasy,” he said, “it certainly wouldn’t feature someone like you.”

“Well, that’s a mistake,” Eames said. “Maybe you need to learn to dream a little - _bigger_.”

“Maybe you need to get the hell out of my bathtub before I call the guards and they take you off to be castrated.”

Eames pouted at him. “Darling,” he said. “Come, now. No need to throw around empty threats. You may not know me, but you do know how much of a waste that would be. I mean - just look at me. You wouldn’t want to destroy art like this.”

Arthur raised a brow. “It wouldn’t be me doing the destroying,” he said. “It’d be Cobb, with a butter knife.”

“How sadistic,” Eames said happily.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Get out of here,” he said. “Before I call the guards and actually get you sent to the dungeons.”

Eames pouted. “Come on,” he said. “Live a little, I mean -“ he waves towards Arthur’s body, his gaze fixed somewhere near near Arthur’s thighs. “You’re depriving the whole world, looking like that and keeping it all to yourself.”

“No, actually,” Arthur said. “I’m not depriving the world, I’m depriving you. Now get out. It wasn’t a request.”

Eames still didn’t move, eyes fixed on some point below Arthur’s stomach.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Arthur said, and rose from the water, grabbing Eames by the upper arm and pulling him with him with surprisingly efficiency. Maybe he’s secretly super strong, or maybe Eames had just been rendered too weak from the sight of Arthur’s ass to fight back.

“There,” Arthur said, shoving Eames towards the window. “Go!”

Eames pouted some more. “Is there really no -“

“Guards!” Arthur yelled, and Eames scrabbled out the window, pausing, for a moment, as he stood on the ledge. “Your ass is fantastic, darling,” he said. “Wanna get dinner sometime?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed Eames off the sill.

-

Of course, after a first encounter like that, Eames was determined to see Arthur’s skin again. Since that could never happen if Arthur continued to wear so much clothing, naturally Eames had to steal the cloth used to make it.

And, really, it’s not like the image could fade, it’s not like Eames can be expected to go cold turkey and rehabilitate himself from the desire to see Arthur naked because Arthur is _always there._ Everywhere. Eames goes to the stables, and there’s Arthur, getting ready to go out for a ride. Eames goes to the armory, and there’s Arthur, polishing his longsword, an eyebrow raised in Eames’ direction. Eames goes to the market to try to steal grandmothers’ wedding rings (only the grandmothers who are too old to remember if they’ve already sold it, of course), and there’s Arthur, smirking at Eames around a custard-filled pastry.

Eames flirts with him in return, of course, of course he does, what choice does he have, Arthur is standing there in the sunlight with cream dripping down his chin, what the hell is he supposed to do. But Arthur just dodges Eames' advances, smirking and arguing and looking attractive, and then shows up the next day anyway.

So really, Eames thinks, it’s all Arthur’s fault. Yeah, that’s it - it’s Arthur’s fault for being so bloody attractive. It’s Arthur’s fault for bantering half naked in a bathtub. It’s Arthur’s fault for pushing Eames off of a ledge and then following him around doing increasingly phallic activities that make Eames blood boil and then flood to his dick. That’s what he’ll tell King Cobb. Surely he’ll understand.

-

“I don’t understand,” King Cobb says firmly when Eames finishes his speech. “In fact, I’m very glad I don’t understand. Because that is _fucking disgusting and Arthur is my son you little creep.”_

Eames looks at Cobb. He looks at Arthur. He looks back at Cobb.

“You’re like five years older than him,” Eames points out.

Cobb sniffs. “I’m a very fatherly figure.”

“Technically Arthur’s his ward. Cobb just likes to sound paternal,” Ariadne - who is sitting on Cobb’s other armrest, isn’t that an interesting portrait - says. Cobb pouts at her, but she smiles beatifically, and he seems to be satisfied.

“Anyway,” Cobb says. “It’s disgusting and I don’t understand. You thinking Arthur is attractive doesn’t excuse your actions. Naturally, you will have to be punished.”

“And rehabilitated,” Ariadne pipes up.

“Well, we could just execute him,” Cobb says, and Ariadne pouts.

“I don’t like blood, you know that,” she says. “Besides, he’s too attractive to let go to waste like that. All we have to do is make sure his desire to see Arthur’s naked body is eliminated, and then he’ll be reformed.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He’s looking at Eames - strangely, something hot in his eyes. For his own safety, so he doesn’t faint on the spot and wake up on a stake, burning like a witch, Eames avoids his gaze.

“Good point,” Cobb says. “Well, how would you - wait! I’ve got it! Arthur and Eames can get married!”

“Hmm?” Eames says. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, it’s the perfect punishment! To have your free will taken away from you, and be forced to live out your days in this castle or - wherever Arthur chooses to take you, I suppose. And you’ll be rehabilitated at the same time, because you can see Arthur’s naked body practically whenever you like, so you won’t have to go around stealing cloth to try to force Fate’s hand.”

Arthur still doesn’t say anything.

“Well,” Eames says, after a very long moment where his brain struggles to work. “You know what they say about hands and feeding.”

Dom frowns at him. “No, what do they say?”

“Um -“ Eames finds himself spectacularly distracted by the pout of Arthur’s frowning lips. “Um - something about - horses, and teeth and - eyes, I think, I don’t know -“

“Oh, this is great!” Ariadne exclaims, jumping up from the throne and clapping. “Oh, we must start planning the wedding! When will it be?” She looks at Arthur, then Eames. Neither of them say anything. She turns to Cobb. “Dom?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. They could be married tomorrow, or tonight if they really get on with it.” Cobb pauses for a moment, considers them. Arthur’s not even looking at Eames’ face, has his gaze trained on the bulge in Eames’ pants. And Eames - well, he has a bulge in his pants. “Right now, maybe,” Cobb says, and then Arthur is rising from his chair, striding forward.

“Thanks, Dom, dearest, but I don’t think right now is the time.” Arthur almost brushes right past Eames, but he catches Eames’ collar as he goes, pulling him behind him like a mother pulls a child by the ear.

“Arthur, premarital sexual relations are a sin in the eyes of our lord Jesus -“

“Oh, do shut up, Cobb,” Ariadne says, and Eames catches a faint huff, the beginnings of a sentence ( _you can’t speak to me like that, I’m -_ ) and then the door to the Great Hall is swinging shut behind him, and its just him and Arthur.

“Um - “ he manages, as Arthur drags him down a new hallway. Arthur cuts him off mercilessly.

“I know you’re going to be my husband and everything, but I don’t really care for your opinions, especially given how atrocious they seem to be.”

“Hey!” Eames protests.

“You’re wearing a tutu,” Arthur says. “You wore a shimmery pink tutu to rob the royal palace.”

Eames sniffs. “Tutus are gorgeous, darling,” he says. “And, besides, all I was going to say is that we could fuck in this hallway. If you wanted to.”

Arthur spins, pressing Eames back against the wall.

“Splendid,” he says. Then they fuck in the hallway.

-

All in all, a good punishment, Eames thinks, several hours later, once they have migrated back to Arthur’s room, and Eames is lying, sweat-soaked and satiated, on Arthur’s ridiculously comfortable mattress. He would have gotten caught a lot earlier if he knew this was what was waiting for him.

A thought occurs to Eames. “Darling,” he says, rolling over so he can look at Arthur, who is coming back towards the bed with a silver platter of strawberries. Arthur is completely naked as he does this. Eames silently bemoans the fact he hadn’t turned over a few moments earlier, so he could watch Arthur’s pert rear as he walked away.

“Yes, Eames?” Arthur prompts when Eames doesn’t say anything else.

Right. Eames shakes himself. _Focus._ “You wouldn’t have fucked just anyone, would you? If the thief happened to be - say, Ariadne, or Yusuf, or the slim seventeen-year-old daughter of the butcher who likes to wear white dresses despite the fact she knows they just get stained with blood -“

“Eames,” Arthur interrupts, pressing a strawberry to Eames lips.

“Mmm?” Eames says around the strawberry.

“Do you honestly think I didn’t know it was you the whole time?”

Eames pauses. “Well -“ he says, strawberry juice dribbling down his chin. “I -“

Arthur snorts. “Random bolts of cloth goes missing? You know as well as I do that the vast majority of that cloth is for me. I had to find the person who would be most incentivized to prevent me from getting new clothes. And who else would that be than you, a clearly very shady and - _exotic_ figure who flirts with me  despite very real risk to his livelihood.”

“Why, darling,” Eames says, delighted. “I had no idea you cared.”

“Also, we put out a reward weeks ago,” Arthur says conversationally, sitting back on his haunches. “Yusuf came forward immediately, spilled his guts and got five golden coins out of the deal.”

“That lying little traitor,” Eames says, with absolutely no venom in his voice.

“But really, Eames,” Arthur says, leaning back down over Eames, another strawberry in his hand. “You know me. I only fuck who I want to fuck.”


End file.
